The Last Stand of the Savagedawn Twins
by Ledabuhr
Summary: Leda and her twin brother Iyotanka are dispatched on a new mission in Ashenvale. Enjoy the politics of a Horde base in Alliance territory, intense battle scenes and the deep, varied interactions of the 43rd!
1. Chapter 1

((Without much ado, I'd like to thank my editor - Iyotanka - for his patience and persistance. This particular FewFic will be completed in 10 chapters and took the entirety of the Cataclysm expansion to finish. All characterizations of in-game characters are purely from my imagination and no offense is intended. If you don't enjoy the way your character is represented, please contact me so I can improve for next time! I definitely welcome all criticisms, questions, comments etc.! Now sit back and enjoy...))

**The Last Stand of the Savagedawn Twins**

Chapter 1

It was a relatively quiet day in Ashenvale. The last elven attack on Splintertree had ended a few days prior and most of the orcs were preparing for the counter attack on Raynewood Tower. In fact, all of the orcs were preparing for the counter attack - all but two.

Frakmog and Bruklar were not the brightest Grunts in Garrosh's army, but they were of the Warsong clan and as such had been assigned to the Ashenvale offensive. They guarded a bridge. A small bridge over an even smaller river. An easily fordable river. An easily fordable river in the middle of Horde territory. But they were out of the way.

"Frakmog, do you ever wonder why them Undeads can't speak Human anymore?"

"Cuz they ain't got ears anymore, numbskull."

"Well even if they ain't got ears, then how come they know Gutterspeak right away?" Bruklar asked. Frakmog scratched his balding green head, but didn't answer. "And another thing: How come they know Orcish as soon as they wake up?"

"Maybe its –"

Frakmog was interrupted by a far off sound. The two orcs strained to hear it, their axes forgotten in the grass. Slowly the sound grew louder – almost an arrhythmic thumping. Frakmog and Bruklar looked at each other quizzically and then in the direction of the thumping.

A female tauren mounted on a nearly black worg rounded the bend in the road. She was tall and dressed in leather that would have better suited a rogue. Her tabard was an odd green and emblazoned with a kraken – neither orc recognised it. They panicked, grabbed an axe and took up their posts guarding the little bridge.

Fear set in when another tauren appeared behind the first – this one a male. He too rode a black worg and the staff he carried withered and bloomed as if it had never been separated from the original tree. His chest was curiously tabard-free, unlike the troll who rode beside him on a raptor that looked odd in the boreal forest. The two of them were laughing at something the troll was talking about; he gestured emphatically with his hands, using his fingers to mimic horns above his head.

Two elves followed next astride the odd chickens they used to get around. Frakmog and Bruklar relaxed a little. Elves were easily dispatched, especially elves in robes. Again, they were wearing the kraken tabard, which worried the two orcs. Both racked their brains trying to recognise the tabard.

"Excuse me? Hello? I asked if this was the way to Hellscream's Watch?"

Leda sighed, looking down at the catatonic orc grunts from atop her worg. The tauren General rolled her eyes at their effectiveness and steered her mount around the little bridge. The water barely got her hooves wet as they forded the tiny river.

It was Aethalia who said what was on everyone's mind when they arrived at Hellscream's Watch. She scrunched up her little nose and asked loudly, "Is this it?" A couple of scouts turned from their posts to glare at the elf, but the priest didn't seem to notice.

The five members of the 43rd were met by the camp's commanding officer – Captain Goggath. The Captain was a nervous orc who had a perpetual tick just under his left eye. It drove Leda nuts and she found every excuse not to look him in the eye as he showed her around the camp. There were exactly two huts, one forge and about a dozen hammocks. The tour took all of 2 minutes.

"We have about eight or nine units that operate out of Hellscream's Watch. They spend a week in field camps and then a day or two back here at the base. I set up a rotating schedule. The camp isn't, well it isn't big enough for more than two units at a time," the Captain explained. Leda wondered how long he had been in command of the base. She hadn't heard the whole story about why they had been transferred, but she was beginning to get the picture. As a General, she outranked Captain Goggath, who appeared to be rather relieved to be no longer in command.

"Which unit be in da base right now, Captain, mon?" Zeb'rinnu asked as he slipped his bow off his back and pulled the tent he shared with Isfrael out of his pack.

The Captain pointed at the half dozen occupied hammocks, "The Taurajo Braves; I think they're the 118th, but I'm sure you just know them as ... that."

"I be hearin' o' dem, mon. Dey seek da vengeance for those dey lost at da Camp Taurajo massacre. Angry, angry bunch o' taurens."

"They've been assigned to guerrilla tactics. The eight of them made enough chaos and destruction to distract all of Astranaar. Without them we wouldn't be about to take Maestra's Post to the north. I have uh, maps over –"

"That's not necessary Captain," Leda interrupted. "We'll set up here. I will meet you at sunrise to discuss tactics." As she had effectively dismissed him, Goggath left with a sloppy salute.

Three red tents were quickly set up in the middle of the camp which Zeb had deemed the safest spot to pitch them. The hunter had, as usual, been scouting tent locations likely before they had even dismounted. Normally they would politely be pitching their tents near the outskirts of the camp so as not to interfere with the already established rhythm and flow of the military camp. But this camp wasn't normal. Three sides were riddled with paths leading down to the warzone and the fourth was the cliff-side and easily within arrow flight of the night elves. No one commented on their choice of location and the Few were left alone until well after sundown.

The ancient trees blocked most of the moonlight and the camp was merely four or five little fires in the blackness. The 43rd sat around their own little campfire in an arrangement that was as natural and familiar as the tides.

In front of the tent she shared with Leda, Aethalia sat perched gracefully on an upturned log. Her long platinum blonde hair was nearly auburn in the flickering of the fire. The flames cast shadows across her undeniably beautiful and perfect features. The tall, lithe priestess usually had to spurn the advances of at least five or six suitors in each settlement they had been stationed at. Tonight she still wore her pristine 'travelling' robe and Leda had yet to spot a snag in the delicate lavender embersilk.

Zeb'rinnu had strung up a hammock between two tents made from several of his nets and was gently swinging back and forth. His skin was a pale shade of green common to forest or jungle trolls and on top of his head, holding back his emerald green hair, sat a pair of green engineer goggles, whirling away. The hammock was too short to accommodate his tall lanky form and one long leg dangled down, nearly touching the ground. Like most hunters, Zeb travelled with a companion. Unlike most hunters, his was an overgrown spider he had named Aracnotron. Leda suspected that Aracnotron was chosen to tag along half because he was so well behaved and half because he freaked Aethalia out.

In the middle of the little semi-circle, Isfrael was entertaining them all by manipulating the fire into shapes and forms to illustrate the story he told. Tonight was the tale of the White Stag and Moon upon Iyotanka's request and the fire-stag leapt through the fire-stars. The mage was the newest member of the small division, but had quickly ingratiated himself into the group. Leda didn't know much about his past, but after Seishougen left on a mission for the Kirin Tor they had needed a mage. Isfrael had requested the transfer to their unit and everyone was happy with the result. Like most Sin'dorei, Leda considered Isfrael to be remarkably beautiful. His pale skin was flawless, his nose was aristocratic and straight, his dark hair fell perfectly across his shoulders and his perpetual smirk spoke of mischief and confidence.

Leda's twin brother Iyotanka had managed to convince a rather large tree root to revoke the earth in which it slept and serve as his chair. The tauren was tall and broad like most of his race and his fur was white with dusty grey spots. Iyo preferred robes and like most druids, carried a long wooden staff which grew leaves and flowers as the seasons changed. Leda and Iyo were near inseparable and she had spent most of her life at his side. From her place near the fire, Leda could see him watching not the fire images Isfrael was conjuring, but the movements of the elf's hands committing them to memory for further study. In his lap, the large tauren was cradling a tiny wild moonkin who had, at the start of the story, appeared to have been listening. Now, toward the end, little Apa'ro was drifting off toward sleep. Leda smiled as the baby moonkin yawned and then covered his beak with his little wing.

Leda herself laid on her side next the fire. The minute she had finished setting up the tent she shared with her brother, Leda had shifted into a bear. The roar of pain that usually accompanied her transformation carried across the little camp, startling several birds into flight in the nearby trees. If anyone realized what the roar signified, they didn't say anything. While Iyo was most comfortable as a tauren, Leda felt more at home as a bear. As a tauren, she tripped over her hooves and nearly hit her head on doorways. As a bear, she was free to do bear-things – run and hop around the forest, chase squirrels and rats for fun, sleep near the fire... As a bear, she stood nearly 6 feet tall on all fours and almost 9 feet tall on two. Her fur was a light brown and along one side adorned with several tattoos: a symbol of the Horde, a raven totem pole, a crescent moon and most recently, an octopus. As a tauren she was tall, like her brother and her fur was nearly white, but dappled with the same light brown colour of her bear form. A large diagonal scar bisects her left eye, although by some form of magic or medicine, the eye is still intact. Her other nasty scar – a two foot long gash between her neck and shoulder – is rarely visible beneath her pauldrons.

Isfrael's story was over and the forms of Malorne and little Cenarius faded back into normal flames. Leda was impressed that the elf knew the entire story and wondered vaguely where he had learnt it. Beside her, Iyo's root-chair drifted back into the earth as the druid stood up. He bid everyone goodnight and ducked inside his tent. A moment later the tent began to glow a slightly purple tinge – Iyo was reading by moonlight trapped in a potions bottle.

The fire was mesmerizing and when two tauren approached their campsite, Leda didn't know if it was minutes or hours after Iyo's departure. The male with dark brown fur stepped forward into the firelight.

"What can we be helpin' ya wit, mon?" Zeb grinned sleepily, dragging his eyes from the hypnotizing flames.

"Legionnaire Kirge Sternhorn, here to speak with General Savagedawn."

"She be right dere," the troll gestured at the bear lazily, who looked to be half asleep herself although her ears perked up when she heard her name, "you can be talkin' to her, but I ain't be sure she be talkin' back." Zeb chuckled at his own joke, knowing full well that Leda was unable to respond as a bear.

For reasons unknown to Leda, the transformation wasn't as painful at night, but it was still painful. She bit her tongue to prevent the small whimper in her throat from escaping. A once sleepy, lazy looking bear was now an alert General. Respectfully, the newcomers bowed slightly at the waist, as was tauren custom. Leda politely returned the bow, but noticed that neither saluted, as was Horde custom.

"Legionnaire Sternhorn," he rumbled, reaching his hand out in a show of what was, among tauren, a sign of equality. Not wanting to start a duel at such a late hour, Leda clasped her hand around his forearm as he did hers.

"General Savagedawn," she returned, quick to snatch her hand back from his grasp.

"I lead the 118th - the Braves. This is my second in command, Mahani." The female tauren he brought with him respectfully bowed her head. "We're a guerilla unit and our targets are determined after much planning on myself and Mahani's part." Leda noticed that Goggath wasn't mentioned. The purpose of the Legionnaire's visit was becoming clearer and clearer. Iyo might be good at tactics and languages, but Leda was getting a crash course in Horde politics. "Is that satisfactory?"

Leda tried to appear calm, but of its own accord, her jaw clenched and her teeth gritted against one another. How dare he assume she was as weak as Goggath? And in front of everyone! Her own regiment! "You are expected to take orders from your commanding officer, Legionnaire, just as everyone else in this camp is obligated to."

"Captain Gog-"

"Captain Goggath is no longer your commanding officer. When you next return for your scheduled week in camp, you will report directly to me. I am your commanding officer, Legionnaire." Sternhorn's glare could have melted the Ice Stone, but Leda returned it with a glare of her own. The two tauren faced off for far too long before Mahani intervened.

"Sternhorn, we need to get a move on. It will take us all night to reach the Spire," the female reminded him, gently tugging on his arm.

"Go on, Mahani, I'm right behind you," Kirge saluted the General, chest puffed out, hooves snapped together and then stomped off to where the rest of the 118th were waiting.

They left the camp immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The first few rays of sunlight broke through the dense canopy of leaves above and created the familiar leopard's print pattern on the red canvas roof of their tent. The little elf stretched luxuriously and reached for her robe. On the other side of the small tent the bear snorted and rolled onto her stomach, limbs splayed in every direction. Aethalia giggled and poked one of the bear's paws with a delicate slippered foot.

It had been three weeks since the 43rd had arrived. An easy routine had been established and the petite priest reverently brushed out her long blonde locks, knowing that just outside Zeb'rinnu was stirring up their campfire. Her mouth watered in anticipation of breakfast and a minute later the sizzle of fried eggs had the normally vain elf abandoning her hairbrush altogether.

"Smells great, Zeb," she smiled, watching the troll flip the eggs expertly with one hand while slicing cured ham steak with the other.

In a minute or two, Isfrael would emerge from the tent he shared with Zeb, likely looking for some misplaced item or another.

"Have either of you seen my tabard? I left it drying just over… Oh! There it is! Thanks guys," the elf snagged the precious bit of green silk from the drying line and ducked back into the tent.

Life in Hellscream's Watch was rather predictable these days. The only unknowns were when the General would finally awake and what her twin was up to. On this particular day, Iyo's tent was wide open and Aethalia could see little Apa hopping around and jumping off different piles of books and blankets. She knew he could fly, but the baby moonkin seemed content with hopping and hooting. The tauren himself was nowhere to be seen, but Iyo often wandered off on his own.

Daintily, Aethalia dabs at her mouth with a linen napkin before passing her plate back to Zeb. The hunter piles bacon onto the plate and passes it back to her. With a smirk, the elf sets the plate down in front of her tent and opens a flap. Moments later, a horned bear is at the door. After a pained bear growl, a grumpy looking tauren emerges from the tent, plate of bacon in hand. Zeb and Aethalia share a quiet smirk.

Right on cue, Isfrael nicks a piece of bacon off Leda's plate (earning him a nasty glare) and salutes mockingly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "More warding, oh great commanding officer?" Leda never replies, likely because he chooses the moment her mouth is full of bacon, but she nods and waves him off. The mage bows theatrically to them all and bounds off to the pile of glowing orbs at the northeast corner of the camp. The headspinningly complex arcane wards had been set weeks ago, but Isfrael was fine tuning them in an attempt to find a reprieve from the local bugs.

In the distance, a horn sounds and in a second, two sentries would stumble by on their way to their own tents.

"Them elves is up to-" the orc interrupted herself with a yawn.

"Up to what, I won-" her companion interrupted himself with his own yawn.

"Stop yawning you'll make me ya-"

Aethalia giggles as the two wandered out of hearing distance across the camp to their own hard earned breakfasts.

"Breakfast was great, Zeb," the elf smiles at him prettily, but he just waves her off. Aethalia smoothes out her robes (today they were a delicate pale pink) and pats her hair before heading off in the direction of her little makeshift chapel. Leda would leave next, only to be assaulted by Goggath the moment she had one hoof outside their campsite. Zeb would be the last to head out, swinging his quiver over his shoulder and gesturing at Aracnotron to follow. The hunter would meet the rest of his hunting or scouting party at the western gate.

Her chapel had obviously once been a shaman's hut. It was cobbled together with a variety of canvas, tanned skins and purple mageweave. The elf wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant smell emanating from it. An attempt had been made to fill in the four perfectly square holes in the ground, but Aethalia still managed to trip over them. Her predecessor appeared to have served the camp well. The only thing the orcs would say about him was that he 'died honourably' which Aethalia translated as 'died in battle facing toward the enemy.' The tent itself was barely large enough to house more than one orc at a time and due to limited resources, the chapel was also used as a hospital. Thankfully, they hadn't had to set up any additional medical centres.

"We be patrollin' da west again. Rulkah an' dem will be huntin' dere so we best be makin' sure none of da elves be botherin' 'em. We be goin' …" Zeb lead a handful of orcs past the chapel, each with their beloved axes strapped to their back.

"…and if we send the 139th who will flank from west?" Leda and Goggath passed by her chapel, Leda rolling her eyes at Goggath and the Captain trailing behind in her wake.

"What about the …"

Aethalia smiles to herself and slips inside the tent, allowing the thin mageweave tent flaps to flutter gracefully in the morning breeze.

The next morning began much the same - Leda's little bear nose wiggled. It twitched and flared.

Bacon!

She bit into her pillow and transformed, her bones breaking and resetting themselves into that of a tauren. Her mouth watered at the sight of the perfectly fried ham steak sitting so innocently just inside the tent. The leather armour was pulled on in record time, followed by the green-teal tabard. Leda grabbed the plate and even as she was lifting the tent flap, had a piece stuffed in her mouth already.

"'Morning Leda!" Aethalia chirps. Leda grunts in response and sits down next to the priest on the log-bench next to the fire. Isfrael steps out of his tent with a panicked look in his eye.

"Find it, mon?"

"Leda have you seen my scrying orb? Its kind of… round and blue-ish?" He conjured a small orb of light between his hands, "About this big?" Leda's mouth happened to be full of bacon (the plate being half empty… or was it half full?) so she pointed at the basket of fruit sitting outside Iyo's tent, which was glowing softly.

"Oh right!" the mage rummages through the basket emerging with the orb and an apple cradled in his arms. "Thanks Leda! Viv would have killed me if I was late for our call." The mage disappears back into the tent and after a minute or two, the soft murmurs of his voice break the morning silence.

The three around the fire are surprised to see Iyo and Apa join them for breakfast. The druid passes on Zeb's fantastic breakfast of 'chicken abortions' (eggs) and 'poor piglets' (bacon) in favour of dry, crunchy sungrass and overripe strawberries. Apa makes a mess of himself and his tummy feathers are stained with bright red strawberry juice.

"'eh Iyo, mon? Ya might wan' ta be givin' Apa a bath," Zeb chuckles, holding up the baby moonkin, who coos adorably, but looks as if he was mauled by a rabid worgen.

"Patrolling or hunting today, Zeb?"

Iyo's sudden change of conversation doesn't phase Zeb and the troll sets the moonkin down. "Patrollin' in da north jus' outside da Furbolg camp."

Apa hops back over to Iyo and grabs another strawberry off Iyo's plate. The tauren strokes his chin thoughtfully, "Close enough I suppose."

"Close enough to what, Iyo?" Aethalia asks.

Iyo gives her a funny look, as if she should already know. "Close enough to the hot spring at the base of the volcano, of course." Setting down his plate, he shifts gracefully and painlessly into a moonkin himself. He and Apa wave goodbye to the camp and then waddle out each adopting the strange crouch-hobble that the native moonkin prefer.

With a hard put upon sigh, Leda stands, "Suppose I should get to work then." Carefully, she looks around her tent and then around behind Zeb's. No sign of Goggath yet… She makes it two steps today before the Captain pops out from behind a brazier.

"General!"

Leda visibly deflates and allows him to fall in behind her.

The command tent had been set up two days after her arrival. It now housed a large round wooden table, cut from a single massive stump near the camp. A large kodo-hide map of the area was stretched across the wood and several chess pieces marked the placement of various units and regiments. Goggath was dismissed as quickly as Leda could manage. She hardly cared what the Captain spent his time doing. Clearly he wasn't much of a strategist or Maestra's Post would be theirs and not constantly changing hands.

A few minutes after Goggath left, a shadow fell over the map in the morning light. "I said you were dismissed, Goggath!" she growled, having very little patience for the stammering orc.

"You'll find I don't resemble Goggath at all, Savagedawn," a voice rumbled. Leda recognized the voice immediately and her headache grew exponentially before she had even looked up from the map.

"That's General Savagedawn, Legionnaire," she met his eyes, the grey were a mirror image of her own stubborn blue. After a minute, Leda broke the awkward tension, "If there's nothing you need then you are dismissed as well." She returned to the map. He ignored her.

"Which piece is the Braves?" Leda pointed at a misshapen rock. She had found it under her bedroll the first night. It had been a pain in her ass all night and it seemed appropriate to assign it to the Braves. "Why have we been placed at Aessina?"

"It's a shrine is it not? The elves will defend it and then we will strike at Maestra's while they are at Aessina," she nearly growled. Who was a Legionnaire to question a General's battle plan?

"They won't defend it and we won't attack it." Leda glared at the other tauren, but he continued, "If we attack there what's to stop the elves from disturbing our sacred places? Besides, there is nothing there except an old Tree who speaks in riddles." Kirge moved the rock nearly a foot over to Stardust Spire. "We need to distract the troops from Astranaar. They are the biggest threat in the entire area and it would force them nearly a day's ride from Maestra's."

It made sense and Leda looked at the map again, her eyes trailing from Maestra's Post to Hellscream's to Astranaar and then finally to Stardust Spire in the south. In the end, her stubborn nature won out and she slammed the rock back at the Shrine of Aessina.

"Get. Out."  
-

The trees in Ashenvale were distinctively different than those in Feralas. Iyotanka stroked his chin, deep in thought as he stood in front of a charred ancient oak. Behind him, Apa splashed and chirped in the lukewarm water of what had once been Iris Lake. No, these trees were much different. They had seen war and been caught in the crossfire of the battle with the elements. Even though Lord Magmathar no longer resided at the top of the volcano lava still lazily flowed down the peak.

In Feralas, the trees normally discussed rather mundane things - the newest nest of squirrels in their boughs, the topmost breeze in their branches - boring tree things. Occasionally they'd strike up an odd existential conversation. Iyotanka found it interesting that the trees were ignorant of their purpose in the world. Surely they knew they were alive to purify the air, shade the inhabitants, provide homes for the local fauna? But this line of thought only lead Iyo to new directions; did the Titans or the Old Gods or the Aspects look down on him for not knowing his purpose? Was he himself arrogant to think he knew of the trees only purpose? To believe their purpose was to serve him?

But the trees in Ashenvale cared not for such philosophical mutterings. Their pain was near palpable and it would take everything Iyo had to cleanse even this small charred corner of the forest. But the balance was off and he had to try.

The larger moonkin plopped himself down a couple feet into the charred area, his feet splayed out in front of him. With his feathery palms planted firmly into the blackened earth at his sides Iyo concentrated. The pain was itchy at first, like a new scab, but slowly increased to the sting of a fresh sun burn.

"Prrrrrreet?" Apa chirped and Iyo peeked open one beady blue eye. In front of the little moonkin's talons was a single firebloom. He chuckled at Apa, patting him on the head. In a circle around them, the earth was no longer black and dead, but a healthy reddish peat colour. The single firebloom grew in the middle - the only plant coaxed from the dirt today.

The two moonkin - one larger and horned, one teeny tiny in his shadow - hobbled back toward Hellscream's Watch. The larger moved stiffly, wincing in pain every few steps.

"Any progress?"

Leda didn't need to turn from the map of northern Kalimdor to know that her twin had stepped into the makeshift command tent. She knew it was Iyo before he spoke. Leda sighed and her shoulders slumped. Her face lost the perpetual stubborn glare of leadership to be replaced with a weary, uncertain gaze. She waved vaguely at the large table dotted with painted chess pieces. It creaked as Iyo leant on it for a closer look.

"Multiple fronts," he pointed a stubby finger at the pieces scattered in a vague circle around Maestra's Post. He nodded distractedly to himself, unravelling Leda's simple strategy easily. "Keep the seige engines where they are - too suspicious to move them. Zeb and the patrol are often spotted by the elven guard, it would be easy for them to flank around behind." His finger alighted briefly on the green bishop, topped with gold which represented the 43rd's resident hunter.

"But what of this?" Iyo gestured at the knobbly rock on which Leda had crudely painted the silhouette of a horned totem pole - the symbol of the Braves. "Why are the Braves at the Shrine, Leda?" His brow furrowed. She could hear him condemning her already.

"Its far enough away from the Post to distract the elves at Astranaar and sacred enough to make them hurry."

"Not Aessina, Leda." She turned, facing him for the first time since he entered the tent. His blue eyes, so like her own, begged her. "Aessina, she… No, Leda. Send them anywhere, but don't send them to the Shrine." Those eyes, those pleading eyes, turned back to the map scanning almost frantically for another target. "Here! Look, Leda. Stardust Spire is the opposite direction and its defended by only a handful of elves and a couple gnomes."

Leda frowned. Kirge had suggested the same thing earlier that morning. To assign the Braves to the southern Alliance settlement would be giving in, conceding defeat - it would be dependence and weakness and … Leda sighed. It would be the best course of action.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"I've sent missives to Commander Grimfang at Zoram'gar in the west and Gorefang in Stonetalon to the south asking for small skirmishes with nearby Alliance outposts." Leda looked up from the map. Crowded into her rather small command tent (which barely had enough room for the map-table) were nearly two dozen leaders of various units, Goggath and the entirety of the 43rd. Each leader represented at least another 10 soldiers and Leda's confidence waned in light of how many lives she controlled.

As their strategy was divulged the painted chess pieces moved gracefully from their current positions dotting the forest around Hellscream's Watch. Isfrael's fingers wiggled in her peripheral vision as he moved the pieces accordingly with gentle puffs of arcane magic. As the lumpy rock moved toward Stardust Spire, she glared at Sternhorn, daring him to comment. The large Tauren only crossed his arms. Leda carried on.

"The Braves will attack at midnight and our attack on Maestra's Post will begin at dawn. That should give Astranaar enough time to rally reinforcements and head in the opposite direction before we launch our attack. The elves are weakest in the daylight," she looked to her twin, who nodded, confirming the fact, "and Zoram'gar will head off any reinforcements from Darnassus by ship."

Several of the sergeants and lieutenants nodded, no questions were asked. Awkwardly, Leda concluded, "By this time tomorrow we will occupy Maestra's Post for good." It seemed to be the kind of statement the other leaders were waiting for and they began to filter out to rejoin their respective units.

Midnight came and passed.

An hour later, a slightly singed hippogriff landed in Astranaar bearing a single elven messenger. Leda marvelled at the speed the night elves were able to muster reinforcements. They left on their nightsabers only minutes after the hippogriff landed, leaving behind several contingents of archers and a patrol of sentinels. Astranaar was hardly undefended, but the defence force would not risk leaving the city to defend Maestra's Post. Everything was progressing as planned.

Chess pieces and maps were simple. They were easy to understand - a piece represented 10 or more troops. 10 troops that could be moved all at once across the map at her will.

Battles were not simple. They are not easy to understand and it hardly mattered whether you were standing above the fray or in the middle of it. Regiments did not fight in nice little groups. As General, Leda's place was behind her line of siege engines. Traditionally orc commanders lead the attack, but Leda's offensive had no room for such displays of battle rage, for charges a top worgs, banners flared and horns ablaze.

"You should just relax, General. Maestra's Post will be ours within the hour."

Leda waved away Goggath, resuming her pacing behind the beefy orcs manning the deadly machines of war. Her blue eyes frantically search the assembled sorcerers, but she exhales slowly when catching site of the single moonkin. He raises his feathered arms in the air and several Kal'dorei archers scream in surprise as they sink into the now-muddy earth nearly up to their chins. Leda smirks and takes a determined step toward her twin, summoning the slow rage and pain for her transformation.

"General?"

Goggath. Leda stops abruptly, only to be bumped into from behind.

"'scuse me, Leda!" Aethalia bustles by in a blur of perfectly coordinated emerald and teal-green. The salve-soaked bandages were heavy and the elf wondered how she would have time to heal so many. The offensive had only just begun and already her makeshift triage was half full of unconscious - bleeding, injured, arrow-riddled - orcs, trolls and tauren. Her pale green eyes skimmed over the assembled wounded and settled on a convulsing warrior with blood frothing at his lips.

Aethalia was at his side in a heartbeat pushing his axe away to make room to kneel next to him. Light burst from inside the orcs chest and the priest carefully wiped the blood off the side of his mouth with her sleeve. Her robes had seen worse.

The troll next to him would live - the two arrows sticking out of his shoulder would scar, but they wouldn't kill him. She moved on.

A scream caught her attention, a strand of hair falling out of her once pristine bun. A troll - a spell caster of some sort - in the back. The elf knelt in the mud, pressing her small pale hand to his forehead. A quick prayer and the mage was unconscious. His pale blue skin was broken and red, parallel cuts ran along his cheek. Nightsabers. Aethalia whispered prayers under her breath, the light spun around the troll and his skin knitted itself back together.

"Anudder one Aet'alia!" Zeb's accent was thicker in the chaotic battle. He had half carried Bruk'lar across the battlefield to the priest's triage centre. His orc friend nodded gruffly as Zeb helped him sit on a rough linen mat. They had trailed blood across the grass. Bruk'lar lost a leg. The night elves knew their way around an axe too.

Leaving Bruk'lar behind, Zeb pulled his polearm from his back, leaving his bow still strapped under his cloak. The rest of his troops were across the field, north of the tower fighting endless Kal'dorei guards armed with sharp glaives. He'd have to go through the chaotic mess of the field to make it there.

Behind his whirling goggles, Zeb's eyes calculated carefully and then the troll smirked before running headlong into the mass of clashing bodies. He whirled left, the broad side of his polearm banging against a night elven helmet like a gong. The elf dropped to the ground. The hunter stepped forward, shifting his grip higher on his weapon, cutting into the stomach of a foolishly arrogant elf running at him. The elf dropped to the ground.

Zeb slipped behind an elf parrying with a deadly looking orc, the handle on his polearm jabbed into her unprotected calf. The elf dropped to the ground. Riding high on the death of the orc at her feet another elf ran at Zeb (he was almost to the tower!). With a grin, the troll planted his polearm in the ground, spinning around the handle and with the practiced grace of a hunter, planted a poison tipped arrow in the elf's neck. The elf dropped to the ground.

Pain screamed up his arm. His pale green skin was angry and blistered and his focus was gone; Zeb just stood there. The intense burns made moving his arm even a fraction an agonizing experience. He could never reach far enough to find his quiver on his back. An elf ran at him, her face horrifically neutral despite the horrors she intended to inflict upon him. The elf combusted… then fluttered as ash in the wind. Zeb's brown eyes snapped up to meet the cool mischief in Isfrael's.

From atop his perch on the hill above the battlefield, the elf bowed theatrically to the hunter below before turning to the tower they meant to occupy. It was several stories tall, of typical Kal'dorei design and light lavender in colour. The mage tilted his head, tapping a graceful (well-manicured) finger on his lips as he considered…

The braziers at the top of the tower suddenly flared and the fire quickly spread. Smoke billowed out the top and the elves trickled out the bottom. The mage's tainted green eyes easily found Zeb in the chaos on the steps to the tower, dodging glaives before embedding the sharp point of his polearm into a sentinel's stomach. The skin on his forearm had clearly regenerated as Isfrael watched Zeb easily take on another elf. The rest of the elves were quickly dispatched by the orcs in Zeb's company, their axes dripping with bright blood. The troll pointed up to the top of the tower, gesturing at the orcs, who gestured back.

The fire blazed brightly, licking at the purple shingles on the roof of the tower. Isfrael had no doubt that the flames had already travelled halfway down the ramp to the bottom. Knowing the elves, the tower was primarily constructed of wood. The mage cursed. It was simple to manipulate the passive magics inherent in the world - to make them active and bend to your will. It was another thing entirely to reverse that process. But they needed that tower; it was instrumental for their mission.

The blood elf closed his eyes and concentrated, his brow furrowed. He extended his arms, pulling up the sleeves of his burgundy robe. Suddenly, he inhaled deeply and the fire at the top of the tower was sucked away by an invisible force.

Beside the large, fluffy moonkin Isfrael collapsed. Iyotanka dropped to his side, his feathery fingers searching for a pulse. The mage's neck was on fire - burning from within. His pale skin was bright pink and blistering in spots. Frantically, Iyo ripped the robe down the middle, leaving Isfrael in only a pair of purple silk boxer shorts. The burns covered the entirety of his skin. The druid faltered for a moment - any touch would be agony for Isfrael, but he had to be sure. Iyo rummaged through his herb pouch, desperately hoping it was still fresh enough. Mageroyal, Azshara's Veil, Briarthorn… no no no! Wait! At the bottom… Yes! The druid pulled out a long forgotten frost lotus - the pale blue petals hadn't even begun to bruise.

Quickly the stem was plucked off and discarded. The bloom itself was turned upside down on Isfrael's chest. Iyo took a deep breath and carefully pressed his palm over the bloom, crushing the petals into the mage's skin. The moonkin's eyes shut as he concentrated; pleading for it to work. A gasp for air! Isfrael breathed again, not easily and certainly not evenly… but any breathing was a marked improvement.

Iyotanka slipped his arms beneath Isfrael's cloak knowing that the soft black runecloth would be much gentler than his feathers or the armour beneath them. Cradling the pink mage in his arms, Iyo carefully set off for the triage, getting several odd looks - some confused, some pitying - from the other sorcerers as he passed. He could do no more for the burns covering the entirety of the mage's body.

"Iyo - what?"

Leda stopped him. Iyo hadn't even been aware he was passing by her command post. He was so intent on keeping the mage still. He didn't have time for this! Isfrael needed salves, compresses…

"The fire at the top of the tower?"

Iyo nodded hastily and rushed off toward Aethalia's triage, where he was met with a sympathetic cry from the priest. Leda rubbed at her temples. She hadn't expected -

"Its almost nightfall, General. The elves' mages will regain their strength."

She waved away Goggath, her eyes raising up to the tops of the trees, where indeed the sky was striped with bright pinks and reds.

"General, the 82nd falters - they need reinforcements."

Runners had been arriving with the same reports for the past hour. The 82nd, the 112th, the 95th… The western front was being pushed back almost to the siege line. Her eyes darted toward the central and eastern fronts. They could spare none. She would need their reserves for nightfall to counter the new strength in the night elves.

"General" another runner panted heavily, "Zoram-" the blood elf took a sip from a proffered flask of water. "Zoram'gar has sent reinforcements. In the west, there!" He pointed and Leda could see the Horde banner flying proudly and its bright red felt like salvation.

Leda pointed at another Grunt who was waiting nearby, having recovered from his last run. "Tell the Zoram'gar troops to reinforce the 82nd in the west. Another hour and the 82nd can pull out. I'll send the 223rd in their place. One more hour. Now go!" The orc took off at a brisk run, slipping between siege engines and the massive tauren, orcs and trolls manning them.

She remained there through the night, rotating in the fresh rested orc warriors of the 92nd and 73rd, the troll and blood elf archers of the 69th and the sorcerers of the 40th. Zeb and the orc scouts he'd befriended stayed at the top of the tower, relentless in their deadly volleys. Aethalia bustled through her triage and the small bursts of pure, white light didn't wane. Iyotanka was half carried to a tent after nearly collapsing with exhaustion and was left to sleep it off. The night was punctuated with the fiery boulders of the siege machines, bright flashes of the mage spells, the slow green curls of the shaman's magic and white pulses from the triage.

"_Iyotanka…."_

_He was in Hyjal, but something was off. Nordrassil was on fire; flames covered and blackened the World Tree. The tauren turned from the horrific sight only to be face to face with the Aspect herself. She was tall, taller than Iyo and chose to take the form of a night elf. Iyo wondered if she chose that form because she knew of his... preferences or if it was a form she preferred. _

"_Hyjal needs you, Iyotanka Savagedawn. Ragnaros approaches. Join your brothers and sisters!"_

_Ysera's eyes were closed, but the tauren could feel her watching him, her gaze boring into his very being. He looked upon her once more - the deep purple skin, the long green hair - and smiled, bowing deep to the Aspect he had pledged his life to aid._

"_I will arrive by sunset tomorrow, my Lady."_

She smiled beautifully, "I knew you would, Iyotanka."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By the time morning dawned over the bloodied and trampled grass that made up their battlefield, the night elves had taken back a large chunk of the Horde's eastern front, past the first siege engines.

"General! I was sent by Kirge -"

"Sternhorn!" Leda recognized the tabard easily. "What are you doing here?!" The Braves weren't to let up in their assault until later that evening.

"The elves abandoned Stardust Spire, sir. They fled to Astranaar, but the city was too defended for us to attempt any kind of attack."

Leda thought carefully. Kirge might not have followed orders, but he had adapted them to ensure the same end. But just because she approved didn't mean he'd get off easily. "Longwalker…"

"Ishtem," the heavily armoured tauren supplied. "Sergeant Ishtem, sir."

"Sergeant Ishtem, tell Legionnaire Sternhorn that after you've rested, you'll have to hold the eastern line."

After rotating the troops again and under the bright new sun, the Horde began taking more ground. Leda was loathe to admit that the Braves were as capable in traditional battle situations as they were in their guerrilla assignments. The eastern front was now the furthest advanced toward the last night elven holdout.

An hour later - at midday - the elves began their retreat. Leda breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was over. They had won. The General turned around counting the bodies laying on heavy linen; there were few casualties considering the length of the battle.

Across the battlefield, Leda could see Zeb gesturing emphatically to what looked like the tall orc in charge of the 129th, a very small company of warriors and a couple sorcerers. The orcs took off at a chase, charging toward the retreating elves.

"Your orders, General?" Leda could see Goggath's tick out of the corner of her eye.

She surveyed the battlefield, strewn with dead night elves, flaming boulders and charred grass. "Set up a pyre. Treat the dead with respect." It seemed Iyo was rubbing off on her, but the orc Captain said nothing and delivered the orders to another runner. "I'm sure there will be a large celebration tonight, but we will need two companies occupying the large building - one infantry and some spell casters. Another company will need to occupy the tower - archers. Half of the siege engine operators will need to remain as well. If they regroup or bring reinforcements, we will be ready."

"Lorana?"

"No no, Isfrael, its me - Aethalia," she whispered, careful not to wake the other wounded.

"When did you get here Lorana? I thought you were at home in Silvermoon," Isfrael smiled weakly at the elf hovering over him. He reached up slowly to cup her cheek, but the woman backed away awkwardly. His memory came crashing back. She was not his dead wife. "What happened?"

Aethalia smiled, happy to see him back in the present, "What do you remember?" He looked pensive for a moment before tentatively trying to flex his hand. A hiss of pain accompanied the movement and Aethalia grimaced, "Try not to move, Isfrael."

"The tower - the fire. I made it, but we - we needed the tower, needed troops in there. Zeb in there. I couldn't undo - I mean, the fire - it had to go somewhere. I absorbed it."

The priest nodded sternly and Isfrael braced himself for the lecture that was sure to follow, "Iyo said you were unconscious and not breathing. Thank the Light he had a frost lotus. What were you thinking doing that alone? I know for a fact that there were five other sorcerers capable of helping you, not to mention Iyo himself!" She growled in frustration, "Oh I could just-" it looked like she wanted to hit him, but Aethalia managed to remember her oath ("First, do no harm") just in time. After a deep breath, she pinned a loose hair back into her perfect bun. "Let me know if you need anything Isfrael, I'll need to tend to the others."

The hills between Hellscream's Watch and Maestra's Post were alit with firelight flickering off red canvas tents. Hundreds of little campfires with hundreds of trolls, orcs, tauren and blood elves celebrating around them. The ale flowed easily and Leda wouldn't be surprised if their entire month's shipment of the bitter brew was drank in that one night. The party was loud, but Leda was tired. She earned several sloppy salutes, slaps on the back and one awkward drunken proposition on her way through the expanded camp. But her tent was like a beacon in a storm and she stopped for no one.

Up in Hellscream's Watch proper, their little campfire was blazing cheerily, but none of the 43rd were around it. Leda tripped on her hooves on the way into her tent, she glared at the ground expecting a hairbrush or one of Aethalia's many pairs of shoes, but there was nothing there. The blood elf wasn't there either; her bed was still neatly made with a satchel of potpourri in the middle of a pink pillow.

The tauren flopped into her unmade bed asleep before she could pull the blanket over herself.

One tent over, her twin brother pulled on his Cenarion Circle tabard, smoothing out the silk with pride. His pack was quickly filled with books, experimental potions and a ratty stuffed bear. Apa trilled from his little nest and Iyo patted him on the head. It would be a long flight and they were already late to leave.

He hadn't been able to find Leda to say goodbye. The sun had long set and hundreds of soldiers were drunkenly stumbling around the camp. Iyotanka looked down at the scrap of parchment in his hand. A dragon with closed eyes was drawn at the top and beneath it a large, horned bird flying toward a massive tree.

Apa followed him out of the empty tent before getting distracted by the fruit bowl outside. Iyo left him there and slipped inside Leda's tent. She had been here all along, but to wake her would mean they'd be even more late. It would be difficult to explain to her how important this was to him. He left his note in the space between the two beds, next to her outstretched hand.

Aethalia's bed was still made (or perhaps re-made?) by the time Leda awoke the next morning. She stretched out, a little thrown off by waking up as a tauren. Above her, the shadows cast on the canvas danced as the wind swept through the trees. The General lay there for a few more minutes, reluctant to leave her bed and don the weight of her responsibilities again. Already, they were creeping up on her still-sleepy mind.

Leda rolled out of bed, her hoof crunching on something on the ground. Parchment. She carefully smoothed it out, the dragon and tree becoming clearer. She glared angrily at the raven. Iyo had left for Hyjal, for Ysera and that stupid Nor-whatever tree. A low growl began in her chest and the note was crumpled in her fist. He had left without saying goodbye. He had abandoned her and flew off into god's knew what kind of situation! She threw the note, satisfied to see it disappear behind her pillow into a corner.

In an angry snit, Leda flung back the tent flap only to come face to face with a surprised troll hunter carrying a plate of syrup soaked pancakes. "Uh… 'morning dere Ledabuhr."

"Zeb," she nodded and pushed past him, stomping toward Iyo's tent. Leda glared at the bowl of fruit in front of the tent. Her hoof connected with the side of the wooden bowl and it went flying, fruit landing across the campsite. "He left!" she snarled. "He left, Zeb! He left without saying goodbye! Without saying anything!"

The troll didn't respond, but waited for Leda to run herself out.

"I can't believe him! Hyjal! What could possibly - Hyjal is overrun! Everyone knows its overrun with fire!"

"Dat migh' be why Iyo …"

"I don't care why he left! He's gone! He'll never be back! He can't -" she growled, pushing his empty tent over; the canvas fluttered and folded into itself.

"Iyo can handle 'imself. Ya be knowin' dat Leda." The tauren sighed, crossing her arms defiantly. "C'mon, mon, da pancakes be gettin' cold now." She accepted the plate gratefully, sitting down on a log-bench and digging in. They smelled heavenly and she hardly minded her fingers getting sticky with syrup. Zeb could only grin and sit down next to her, taking advantage of her mouth being full. "Ya can't be leavin' Ledabuhr." Leda opened her mouth to argue, but the troll plowed on. "T'ink of what Garrosh be sayin' when he be findin' out dat his General be away in Hyjal. Iyo be takin' care of 'imself. Ya know dat Leda. An' he not gonna be alone. Dere be lotsa druids in Hyjal, defendin' it."

She nodded, satisfied for now that Iyo was safe.

When they landed at the Sanctuary of Malorne, it was dusk and the giant alabaster stag was bathed in gold from the setting sun. Birds called to one another, their songs echoing off the mountains and cliffs. A general quiet and calm had descended over the sanctuary, the kind of quiet which only comes at dusk.

Cenarius stood at the base of the statue of his father, offering advice and suggestions to any who were brave enough to approach the demigod. Iyo nodded respectfully at him, but was not brave enough. Instead, he chose to approach the tauren female who appreared to be in charge. She smiled at him.

"Welcome to the Sanctuary of Malorne, brother. Did you hear Ysera's call?" He nodded and she continued. "I am Matoclaw Thornhoof; I coordinate the defense of Hyjal from here at the Sanctuary."

"I am Iyotanka Savagedawn," he supplied distractedly, his eyes following Apa who had wandered off toward Cenarius, but was currently gazing up at the statue of the god he was named after. When Iyo's eyes returned back to Matoclaw (who didn't appear to notice the little moonkin) she looked confused.

"We thought –" she paused and then began again, "Your sister did not come with you?"

Now Iyo looked confused, "General Savagedawn is in Ashenvale and fights for the Horde in Garrosh's name."

Matoclaw nodded, turning to look at a night elf behind her and then shaking her head in the negative. "No matter," she addressed Iyo again, "What are your strengths Iyotanka Savagedawn?"

"Research, diplomacy, languages – I can speak 17," Iyo thought for a moment and then added, "battle tactics."

Iyo's eyes slid over to the base of the statue where Apa had been and he panicked for a second when the little moonkin wasn't there. A quick glance to his right and Iyo relaxed again. Apa was waddling up to Mylune and the laughing sister hadn't noticed him quite yet.

"Battle tactics?"

"My sister – she and I would formulate the offensive and defensive strategies for her postings."

Matoclaw only nodded in response, "The Grove of Aessina is –"

"Ooooo my goodness! Aren't you the cutest wootest wittle bitty moonkin?"

The two tauren turned toward the laughing sister who had picked Apa up under his wings and was cuddling him in her arms. Apa trilled when she tickled under his beak and the dryad giggled. They were both way too adorable.

Matoclaw cleared her throat turning back toward the other tauren. "The Grove of Aessina is now home to the majority of our research-oriented brethren. It is much removed from both the offensive and defensive fronts, but if you should choose to join them that can be arranged later as well."

"Night elf patrols have been sighted near Maestra's Post."

"Well where are they coming from Goggath!" she roared.

"I - they say from the west. The 82nd are standing by if you think that would be a good…" he trailed off at the furious expression on her face.

"I'll go," Leda growled, "Where's the 82nd?" She was gone from the command tent before Goggath could reply.

Iyo and Apa reached the Grove just as the stars were beginning to twinkle in the dark night sky. It was quiet here too, much quieter than the Sanctuary. Perhaps the birds had gone to bed. A few night elven lanterns were hung from various obliging branches overhead and the moonwell in the centre of the grove glowed its bright blue-grey light.

The tauren reached down and picked the little moonkin up and the two set off to find whomever was in charge of the intellectual front.

They found her in a large alabaster building, circular and tall with long elegant pillars typical of night elven design. Inside, Iyo was momentarily awed by the sheer number of shelves and books and scrolls and ... knowledge. The unassuming temple-like structure had clearly been magically altered to be larger on the inside and there were various corridors of shelves branching off the main domed room, corridors which hadn't been visible from the outside. He marvelled at the magical feat, instantly distracted by the new puzzle before him. His hand reached out to touch a tall alabaster wall that shouldn't be there and he could feel the coolness of the stone.

"Long time no see."

Iyo spun around and the little moonkin chirped happily. The night elf before him was beautiful, her posture bespoke grace and education. The smile around her amber eyes increased as he blushed and stammered a greeting.

"N-Nara... How...? Earthmother be with you," he mumbled feebly, bowing slightly at the waist. He was assaulted with memories – of Stormwind, of warlocks... of Leda coughing blood up into the dewy grass, of the once-beautiful Park District.

"You learnt Darnassian; your accent is perfect."

"You learnt Taura'he." Her accent was less than perfect and he hoped she wouldn't notice his lack of compliment.

"My accent could use some work," she shrugged, the pale blue silk robe shifting slightly across her shoulders. He wondered if her skin was as soft as the silk. "We usually speak Common, I haven't had much chance to practice since Matoclaw left."

"Matoclaw sent me," he blurted out awkwardly, she nodded politely.

"You must be weary from your journey. Let me show you to your quarters," Nara set off down another long corridor that shouldn't be and Iyo followed respectfully behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Leda you have to come out… Leda, please. There's been an attack on the tower at Maestra's and Goggath is going to send forty orcs, including our watchmen and defence forces."

There was no answer. Aethalia peeked inside the tent. Leda was not sleeping but she was not exactly awake either. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the canvas roof.

"Leave me be, Aethalia."

The next day Zeb tried. "Leda, mon, we be missin' ya out dere. I be makin' da sausages yeh be likin'." The sausages were thrust into the tent by a long green arm and their mouthwatering scent permeated the little tent. Still, there was no answer.

By the third day, Leda concluded they were taking turns. She didn't want to see any of them, but was relieved to hear Isfrael's voice at the tent flap. "Leda, we need you to come out. Goggath is running the camp into the ground! You received a letter today from Orgrimmar." The scroll was poked through but when no hand grasped it on the other side, it dropped with a hollow 'thunk' on the ground.

She could hear his smirk when he spoke next, "There's another letter here from further… north. Near a certain legendary mountain…" Leda sat up. A letter from Hyjal?

"Don't say that Isfrael!" hissed Aethalia, "There are no letters, Leda." She lay back down and resumed contemplating the number of ways Iyo could be killed without her there to protect him.

It was incredibly peaceful in the Grove of Aessina and it was easy to forget that a war was being fought in the south. Apa wandered freely through the grass, flowers and temple and quickly became a favourite among the druids stationed there. Iyo's time in the temple was split between translating texts from the difficult to master Ursine the furbolgs spoke and gathering the courage to speak to Nara.

He spent most of his time in the western reading room, which had been designed much the same as the main library. The dome was on the smaller side, but was open at the top allowing the air and light to stream in at all hours of the day. The furbolg records were far from this reading room, closer, in fact, to the eastern reading room. But the long walk passed by Nara's preferred research table in the central room. So far, he had dropped three scrolls on the first day past her table. On the second day, he tripped over his hooves and nearly ran face first into a marble wall on the third day.

On the fourth day he began avoiding her and settled in with his Ursine scrolls in the eastern reading room. The air was stuffy and smelt of mothballs. Iyo was halfway through Unng Ak's account of the War of the Ancients when her perfume drifted by; he paused and closed his eyes to savour it.

"Tired of juggling scrolls through the corridors or are you avoiding someone?"

The tauren's eyes flew open and he guiltily looked up at the night elf standing next to him. "I... uh, this scroll was kind of ... heavy." Nara smirked as he easily lifted the flimsy aged parchment, but she said nothing to contradict him. Instead, she sat delicately in the chair across from his. Discreetly, he admired her emerald robes and the way her long blue-green hair settled itself perfectly around her shoulders. Neither said anything for a long moment.

She broke the silence.

"I still have the scarf," Nara continued when Iyo didn't respond, "the one you knit in Stormwind. It's the same blue as..." Their eyes met. Iyo was the first to look away.

"It was a horrible scarf. But it was also a welcome distraction from..." Iyo didn't finish, but both knew he referred to Leda's life-threatening injuries.

Nara nodded and stood up, carefully pushing the wooden chair in and smoothing her velvet robes. As she passed Iyo's chair, the night elf rested her small delicate hand on his impossibly large shoulder. "I would wear it every day if it weren't so warm here in Hyjal." Iyo could hear the smile in her voice.

"Where do you want to send Sternhorn?"

"I don't care Goggath! Send him to the god-forsaken moon!" There was a loud crash and Zeb poked his head into the tent to see the map-table overturned and painted chess pieces littering the grass. "I need my worg!"

"What would you need your worg for, General?"

She suddenly looked very worried; all traces of the rage that had been driving her for weeks was gone. Leda chewed relentlessly on her thumb nail but there was no Iyo to scold her for doing so. Zeb stepped inside the tent and her eyes begged him.

"I - I have to go, Zeb. No one…. No one can protect him…" _like I can._ The unsaid words hung in the air between them.

"His place may be at Hyjal, Ledabuhr, but yeh be knowin' dat yer place is here." Leda suddenly looked so lost, so alone as if she had been holding it all at bay until this moment. The troll slid an arm around her shoulders and Leda leant her head on his shoulder, comforted by his steady presence.

"Take it directly-"

"Directly to the Warchief, yes sir," the wyvern rider finished, anxious to leave. He tucked the scroll of parchment into his belt and set off, flying up higher than the trees.

Nearly a week later another orc arrived at Hellscream's Watch riding a dusty brown worg.

Leda stared vacantly into the fire. At her side, Zeb thanked Lieutenant Ar'thanil for his report. She didn't remember a word that the arrogant blood elf had said. The elf's footsteps faded away and a new pair of feet made their way toward the little campfire outside the command tent.

"Throm'ka!" Leda looked up from the flames to find an armoured orc with the eerie pupil-less glowing eyes of a death knight. "'Ere kow," he grumbled and thrust a rumpled scroll of parchment in Leda's direction. She glared in response. "Lat Big Boss gib it to Gohrr."

The parchment was furled and the orc helped himself to a seat next to Leda by the fire, drinking deeply from a foul smelling hip flask. The missive was written in the flowing flowery hand of Ambassador Dawnsinger, but even Leda could read the sharp, hasty scrawl of Garrosh's signature at the bottom. The scroll was passed to Zeb and the troll read aloud likely for Leda's benefit.

"It be addressed ta da Gen'ral 'ere," Zeb gestured at Leda, who scowled. Whatever Garrosh had to say wouldn't be good. "Da Warchief be congratulatin' us on da successes at Maestra's Post. He expectin' us ta capture Astranaar by de end of de month." The hunter paused, reading ahead a few lines. Leda sat up a little straighter as Zeb's eyebrows flew up. "Dis 'ere be Gohrr," the orc in question belched and took another swig of something from his hip flask, "'e be your new advisor. Gohrr is part of de Shadowclan. 'E part of de Horde, but also not; Gohrr speaks for da orcs. Garrosh knows dat Leda 'ere be speakin' for da Horde, but 'e be t'inkin' dat she need more of de orc voice."

Leda said nothing for a long while. She needed Iyo to unravel it for her - does Garrosh not trust her? Is he sending Shadowclan orcs to all the major offensives in Kalimdor or just her? What does this change? How should she react? Leda took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose.

"Show Gohrr where he can pitch his tent. I believe there is a spot next to yours Zeb. If he didn't bring a tent, I'm sure there's an extra somewhere - check with Aethalia." Zeb nodded and Leda continued, "Meet me here first thing tomorrow morning Gohrr."

"Yub yub."

The troll and orc's footsteps faded away and the tauren slipped into the command tent. She was surprised to see the markers for her various troops were not where she left them (thrown around the tent in a pique of rage) but neatly lined along the edge of the map. If Garrosh wanted Astranaar within the month they'd give him Astranaar.

Leda's stubborn pride won out in the end. She spent the rest of the day hovering over the map; the dinner Aethalia had brought (a hearty rabbit stew) sat cold on the edge of the map near Splintertree Post.

By the time she got back to their campsite everyone had already turned in and the flickering fire illuminated only a single orc with glowing blue-grey eyes. Leda scowled at him, but Gohrr didn't seem to notice. The death knight just continued to take swig after swig from his flask and stare into the flames. She huffed and stomped, whipping open the tent flap and whipping it back closed behind her.

"Wha? Who?"

Aethalia sat up in her bed, eyemask still in place, but a bright, white light already glowing on her forefinger.

"S'just me Aeth," Leda whispered, immediately regretting her childish display (which had no effect anyway). The two women settled into their respective beds and daylight broke a few hours later.

When she emerged for breakfast (plate of bacon in hand) there was no sight of the 43rd's newest mandatory recruit. His clefthoof-hide tent stood open.

"Haven't seen him yet this morning," Isfrael mumbled over his cup of tea. Leda pursed her lips in response and sat down to munch on her bacon. "What's his deal anyway?"

"Garrosh sent him," Leda grumbled with her mouth full. "Probably to make sure I'm not lazy or insane or something." A look was shared between the mage, priest and hunter. Based on Leda's behaviour the past few weeks, anything could be assumed.

"Da Warchief be wanting dis night elf city - Astranaar. He be sendin' Gohrr 'ere ta make sure dat it happen by de en' of de month." Zeb mumbled, trying to shimmy Aethalia's egg-white omelette from the pan onto her plate.

A determined look crossed Leda's face and she set down her half-empty plate of bacon and abruptly left the camp. Isfrael shrugged and picked up the abandoned plate.

Leda found Lucas and Kal'rissian dozing in the shadow of Aethalia's tent. The scouts didn't seem to notice her approach. She huffed in annoyance and Kal'rissian cracked one fel-green eye open.

"What's up Lady General?" he asked through a yawn.

"I need intelligence."

"What kind of intell?" he drawled in response, examining his manicure.

"I need you and Lucas to scout Astranaar's defenses. I need everything - guard postings, rotations, positions of siege weapons, location of any officers' quarters, hippogriff masters - everything." Neither of them moved. "Go now!" she growled. Kal'rissian glared at her and poked his Forsaken companion.

"Wha?" he mumbled at the elf.

"New assignment," Kal'rissian nodded his head at Leda, who still hadn't left. "I'll tell you on the way. Stay out of sight."

"By now, its harder to be seen," the Undead cackled.

Leda ended up finding Gohrr in her command tent. More specifically, in her command tent touching her map. Even more specifically, in her command tent touching her map and MOVING her markers. Zeb leant casually against a tree trunk that spilled into the tent, watching the orc carefully. The death knight moved a unit comprised primarily of spellcasters into the centre of Astranaar and then took a deep swig of whatever was in his perpetually full flask.

"Do you ever quit drinking?"

Gohrr looked up and drank again, belched and then grunted, "Nub."

Leda looked to Zeb to translate. The troll shrugged.

"Excuse me?" she demanded.

"Gohrr da Clan's Cydergoth. Stoopid kow."

"Dat be old-Orcish, Ledabuhr. Gohrr be saying dat he be Brewmaster of his clan."

"Gohrr didn't say anything else?" her eyes narrowed, "Anything about cattle and their lack of intelligence?"

"Skah!"

"Oh, so you can understand me? Good! Understand this: I don't care who you report to or why you're here. This is my camp, this is my posting and I'm in charge. Don't touch my things!" she pounded her fist on the table and the chess pieces jumped; an orange pawn fell off the northern end. "Don't order my troops around. And you had better not even think about drinking on duty again!" Leda roared in frustration and let the shift happen. Gohrr stared in confusion at the horned bear - they were nearly eye to eye now. She exhaled quickly through her nose and left the tent in a bear-huff.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Iyo was getting nowhere. The furbolgs records were all over the place. He'd gone from reading several accounts of the War of the Ancients to reading what seemed to be an incomplete cookbook. The druids had just collected as many scrolls as they could in Ursine and filed them at random. Iyo was surprised that none of them had taken the time to learn the language.

"Simmer the rabbit in the briarthorn infusion for 3 days before application." Sounded more like a medicinal cookbook. The chair across from his scraped across the marble floor and echoed in the cavernous library. Iyo looked up from his scroll to find Nara smiling at him from across the table. He loved Nara-time; he spent all morning looking forward to it and all afternoon replaying it in his mind.

"And what does this furbolg think is important enough to record?" She reached for the scroll and Iyo lifted his elbow so she could slide it across the table. He knew she couldn't read it, but she traced the swirls and squiggles with the tip of her finger.

"I haven't decided if it's a cookbook or a collection of homeopathic medicines," Iyo shrugged, "It could be both."

She studied the scroll, smiling at the careful diagrams and sketches further down. He studied her - the curve of her nose, the arch of her brow, the curiosity in her amber eyes - committing it all to memory. Today she wore a deep sapphire gown with a neckline low enough to expose her shoulders and collarbone.

"We were expecting her to come as well."

His eyes flew up to hers and Iyo could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Who were they expecting?

"Your sister. Whenever I asked anyone about you, she was always mentioned in the next breath. We thought we'd be getting two for the price of one."

Iyo chuckled. "And what would Leda do in a library? She'd die of boredom - literally. I'm not exaggerating."

Nara laughed - By Elune, her laugh was beautiful! - and it echoed across the domed ceiling. Iyo smiled, resolving to make her laugh again. She caught him watching her and there was an awkwardness, a still anxious moment that Iyo was frantic to break, lest she leave early.

"Well, I'm sure we could find something for her to keep her busy. I just received Commander Shadowsong's memoirs - the ones I've been pestering him about for ages. I'm sure she'd find the tactics useful and they're in Common."

"I have no doubt she'd be fascinated, but Leda can't read." Iyo panicked, "I - I shouldn't have told you that. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not. But you - I mean, she won't learn?"

"She's stubborn and proud. If any of her troops saw her struggling to read even the most basic Orcish bedtime story…"

"Her secret is safe with me," Nara smiled, miming the locking of her lips and passing him the imaginary key. He took it with reverence, pocketing it over his heart. "I should like to meet her someday though. Or at least, I'd like to meet her whilst she is not in the process of dying on my doorstep. I know how important she is to you. It seems the whole of the Cenarion Circle knows how important she is to you." Nara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her beautiful amber eyes left his and she turned her head to look toward the stacks, suddenly interested in the dusty shelves. Teal green locks hid her face from his. When she looked back at him, the elf sat up a little bit straighter and her smile was a little bit fake-r. She passed the scroll back to him. Nara-time was over until tomorrow. They both had important research to do.

"Legionnaire Amakkar, along with his troops from Zoram'gar, have agreed to stay on for the offensive at Astraanar. He's assured me that no reinforcements will get to the city via the coast and all efforts will be made to divert any hippogriffs from Darnassus," Leda moved the brown and blue pawn from Zoram'gar back to Hellscream's Watch.

"The more, the merrier! Or at least, that's how I expect it goes during an offensive…" Aethalia picked up a purple and gold rook only to set it down again when Zeb shook his head. The piece was back on the table before Leda noticed and the planning resumed calmly.

"If we attack from here..." Leda slid nearly all the pieces from Hellscream's Watch (leaving only the pure red rook – their defence guard).

"Den all dere forces be defending in dat one spot," Zeb finished, shuffling a few of the pure purple pawns to meet the Horde forces. Leda said nothing, tapping her lips with a finger while she pondered the options.

"We could split our forces, like -" the tauren shuffled them around until there were two groups of brightly coloured chess pieces, "- this. With two equal groups, we will split their defences thinner than they already are."

"Didn't we do something similar at Maestra's?" Aethalia piped up, "If any survivors made it back to Astranaar they will be expecting two fronts and possibly have prepared for it. I'm sure some did so we should plan for it." Leda nodded. She was becoming predictable – the ultimate insult to any military tactician.

"Three fronts then? And we do it backwards this time," Leda bit her lip and snatched up the brown and orange rock that served as the marker for the Braves. "I attack here with the first front, making the elves believe its our main attack. Zeb, you will lead the second front over here. In both cases we'll build bridges of our own, drawing attention toward our fronts. Meanwhile, the Braves will circle around to what is now the lightly guarded south bridge to attack their defence force from behind."

"Dat could work, Ledabuhr," Zeb grinned, "Da only ting I be worried 'bout be da defense forces ov'rwhelmin' da Braves."

"There aren't really any other units trained in guerrilla warfare – siege units would take too long to circle around, spell casters need better protection than a handful of tauren with vendettas..." Leda sighed, there didn't seem to be a solution.

"Oh! Wait!" the priestess was bubbling with excitement. "Its so perfect!," she squealed.

"Are you going to explain any time soon, Aethalia?"

"Oh! Yes! Well! Every unit, or at least most of them, has got one or two members that are especially adept at ... procuring things. They're sneaky, quiet and unfortunately fantastic at eavesdropping," the elf blushed, but didn't elaborate. "We could temporarily re-assign them to the Braves and the elves wouldn't even see it coming – literally!" Aeth giggled.

"Dat could work."

"I like it," Leda mumbled, busying herself with selecting a plain white pawn and trying to choose a paint to represent the temporary all-rogue unit. Her fingers hovered over robin's egg blue before landing on canary yellow. She dunked the pawn in head-first. "So its settled. Call the commanders in for briefing tomorrow at sunrise."

Isfrael cursed as a long shadow fell over the ward crystal he was re-calibrating. He'd have to start again. With a heavy sigh, the elf looked up to find the strange new orc standing in the last few rays of the setting sun.

"Wut dat?" he asked, pointing a stubby finger at the crystal.

"This?" the mage held up an apple-sized rough cut crystal softly emanating a blue arcane glow, "It's a crystal which controls a series of wards that make it impossible for members of the enemy races to infiltrate our camp. And yes, you did just interrupt me."

The death knight laughed. "Stoopid albai. Roks nub keep dem owt!" But the elf only smirked and waved his palm over the crystal. Gohrr was quiet a moment, but when nothing happened the orc chuckled one more time "Roks! Har!" And then he tried to get into the camp again.

He walked and walked. And walked. To Isfrael, inside the wards, Gohrr appeared to be perpetually taking the same step. The elf stood, crossed his arms and smirked. "Stupid orc. Don't underestimate things you don't understand." The sun had set and only a few pink streaks remained in the purple blanket of dusk. He'd be back later to add orc death knights back onto the guest list.

"Dinner smells great!"

"Ah Isfrael, we be jus' wonderin' where ya be off ta."

"The orc patrols knocked over another ward crystal. I'm beginning to think they're doing it on purpose. Maybe it's a game. Or they're taking bets on how long it takes for me to crack." The mage settled into a patch of ground near the fire, leaning up against the fallen log Aethalia was sitting on. Shepard's pie was passed along and the 43rd ate in satiated silence.

"Has anyone seen Gohrr yet today? He might not eat, but he usually drinks his weight in that awful orcish ale while we do."

Everyone shrugged and Leda went back to her meal. The whereabouts of her babysitter were not her top priority.

Leda turned in early and Aethalia wasn't far behind her. The sun was just barely setting above the leafy forest canopy, but both of them had an impossibly early start tomorrow. The elf was asleep after a couple minutes, but the tauren lay awake for far too long.

Outside, the troops were celebrating. Leda could hear the bawdy drinking songs all mixing and carrying over one another from the camps below. Most were orcish – songs about honour and death and blood. But beneath the cackling and clinking mugs were the low, melodic, haunting snippets of a traditional tauren song. It sounded familiar, yet not. Leda and Iyo had spent the majority of their lives outside the tauren community. Even now, while Iyo might be able to identify and participate in tauren rituals and ceremonies, it was as an outsider. He did so out of respect, not because it was a part of him. Iyo identified more with druidic culture and the Cenarion Circle than tauren or even Horde culture even if he did want to identify with his tauren traditions. There was a time whe-

Leda remembered.

Thoughts of her brother's identity cleared away like smoke on the wind. She knew the song that the tauren sang. It was traditionally sung at funerals.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Zeb stretched his long arms way above his head. The sun hadn't even begun to peak her head up over the trees yet. He'd always been a morning person and this morning was no exception. In the bed roll next to him, Isfrael snorted and sucked up his drool before rolling over and kicking the blanket off one pale foot. The troll shook his head bemusedly and lifted the tent flap for Aracnotron, chuckling when the mage's little foot snuck back inside the blankets.

Another big stretch was his first order of business. Finally able to stand up completely straight (or at least, as straight as a troll preferred), Zeb inwardly lamented the size of their tent as he did every morning.

Zebrinnu loved pre-dawn. The dew had recently settled on the grass around their campsite and was cool and refreshing on his bare feet. There was a certain stillness in the air – a crisp newness which embodied everything mornings represented. Here was a new start, a day full of possibilities and opportunities.

The fire had died down to a low smoulder over the few hours he had been asleep. The troll and the spider made their way around the side of their tent to where a pile of chopped lumber (which was bountiful in these parts) had been stacked beneath an outside tent flap. An armful of wood and Isfrael's leftover scrap parchment later and the fire was crackling heartily. It almost echoed across the silent sleeping camp.

After rummaging through their food stores, he had settled on pine nut pancakes with (as usual) bacon on the side. Zeb loaded his arms up with ingredients – the cheese, flour, eggs, pine nuts, bacon, syrup – and nearly dropped it all when he turned back to the fire. On the other side of the flames was a familiar bear. A bear who normally didn't roll out of her tent until the last possible moment. Zeb shook his head to clear the cobwebs and grabbed the frying pan before sitting down on a log-seat to start his breakfast.

"Morning dere Leda."

The bear didn't respond except to scratch her nose.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The bear looked at the ground and heaved a forlorn sigh. Dust stirred and the flames flared.

"Worried about Iyo?"

There was no response, but after a moment the bear stood up and shifted sluggishly into his commanding officer. Her lip was bleeding profusely, but she hadn't made a sound. Zeb knew better than to push her. If Leda wanted to talk she would. If Leda didn't want to talk she wouldn't. The fact that she had willingly shifted into a form that could speak was progress.

Moments dragged on. Zeb flipped his pancake, scents of the pear and cinnamon baked into the batter made his mouth water. A log cracked and spit sparks nearly as far as the dew-laden grass.

"I ..." she began and then stopped. She looked confused, uncertain. Zeb turned his attention back to cooking. Someday she'd find a way to feel whole without Iyo around.

"I feel..." she tried and then stopped. A deep breath followed. "I'm worried." Zeb looked up, but Leda had her head down, looking at her hands.

"Worried abou' what?" he asked.

"What if we lose everything? What if everyone dies? What if the elves are more prepared than they let on? What if I fail? What if this whole thing fails?"

"Ya can't let ya life be determined by da ifs, Ledabuhr." He cut a thick slice of brie and lay it on top of the hot pancake.

"Everything seemed so clear yesterday. So easy."

"It be a good plan. We both be knowing dat not all o' dese soldiers are gonna be makin' it back 'ere. Dere is no way dat ya can be sure any o' us be makin' it back either Ledabuhr. Jus' remembah dat dey all signed up for dis. Dey all be believing in you an' ya plan."

Leda didn't respond. The pancake slid easily onto his plate and the brie had melted perfectly. Halfway through his first blissful bite, Leda tensed up and her face shifted from the painful lost expression to the hardened determined look she wore outside their campsite. He marvelled at how fast she went from Ledabuhr to General Savagedawn. Zeb turned to follow her gaze over his shoulder.

Sternhorn.

Zeb looked between the two, a bite of pancake hovering on his fork halfway to his mouth. A blob of brie fell off his fork and onto the waiting plate. Neither tauren said anything. The tension was so thick, he'd need a very sharp axe to cut through it.

"I be uh... jus' inside da tent Ledabuhr." Bacon was carelessly tossed into the hot cast iron pan. "Don' be burning da bacon."

"I saw the smoke from your fire."

Leda didn't respond. She didn't think a response was necessary. Instead she cut right to the point. "Did you have a question about the attack today?"

"I can't sleep before a big battle, either."

"That's not a question."

He sat down on the other end of the log-seat.

"How much did you hear?" She was sure voices would travel in the dead silence of the dawn. Leda watched the flames, mesmerized by their dance, but she could feel his gaze on her. She could feel his pity at her pathetic display of weakness.

"I heard enough," he rumbled. An awkward silence followed. Leda knew she was supposed to respond, but had nothing to say. So she said nothing. "I, well I just wanted you to know that whatever this is, this doubt and dread, you're not alone in it." Sternhorn paused and she could feel him watching her again. "And in the end, we're better leaders because of it." When she said nothing, he stood, bowed respectfully and quietly as he had entered, left their campsite.

"I bettah not be smellin' no burnin' bacon ou' dere Ledabuhr!"

She cringed and leapt for the smoking pan, forgetting about cast iron and hissing when the sensitive skin on the palm of her hand wrapped around the blindingly hot handle. The pan tipped and fell in the dirt, splashing bacon grease on her hoof and dumping her breakfast on the ground.

Zeb was out of his tent in a flash and had her hand wrapped in a very colourful bandage, which looked to be part runecloth and part frostweave. "Dat be da las' time ya be makin' ya own breakfas'." The troll picked up the pan (after grabbing the nearby cooking mitt) and blew off the dust. "Jus' be sittin' tight until Aeth is wakin' up. She'll fix ya." With the pan nearly clean and her hand patched up, Zeb started cooking her breakfast again.

"How much of that did you hear?" Leda knew how thin the tents were.

"I not be hearin' anyt'ing ou'side da tent," Zeb flipped the bacon expertly and then turned to smile at her, "But I be sure dat anyt'ing Sternhorn be sayin' is da trut'."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Leda would always remember distinctly the moments before the charge. She remembered the song the rain made as it fell on plate at Menethil Harbour. She remembered the stillness of Ironforge, clouds of breath hanging on the air. She remembered Stormwind and the buzz of anticipation – the thrill of sneaking in. She remembered all the battles after that too; facing off against demons, elves, vrykul, ancient security systems...

Today was no exception. This was big. This was the biggest offensive she had lead. Leda's nerves had her trembling inside. They had set off shortly after breakfast after the sun had risen – when the night elves would be at their weakest and the Sin'dorei would have their full strength.

Astranaar would be in sight around the next bend in the road. Half of her forces were amassed behind her and nearly two hundred orcs, trolls and tauren were not the quietest bunch. Despite the clanging, laughing, singing and war cries, Leda would always remember the quiet loneliness of standing at the front. She'd forever remember the smirk on Isfrael's face and saying goodbye to Aethalia behind their defensive line. Zeb had refused to say goodbye, but waved as he led the other half of the troops down the eastern path. An owl hooted and a moth landed on her worg's ear only to be quickly flicked off.

Leda dismounted. She channelled all of her mixed up emotions into her shift and the anguished roar filled the morning, echoing off the mountains. The rest of the battle was a blur; she never remembered the fighting.

Later, Isfrael would tell her she charged across the first bridge to go down across the lake. His manicured nails would become sharp claws as the mage re-enacted how she nearly dismembered the first night elf to stand in her way.

The rage fuelled her. On the battlefield, Leda knew nothing but fierce, destructive anger and always a faint awareness of her twin's location. But here today, in Astranaar, there was only one Savagedawn. With nothing to distract her from the uncontrollable fury, the bear easily cut through the defending elves.

The second elf almost unsheathed her glaive before Leda's paw swiped across her delicate cheek, leaving five parallel lines of red and snapping her neck. The third happened to be the hippogryph keeper and while she bled like the rest, her charges didn't go down so easily. Leda was swarmed by three, four, five – sharp talons and beaks ripped at her skin, chunks of fur and flesh were flung aside. The bear roared in frustration, rearing up on her back legs and swatting at the beasts. The hippogryphs, in turn, dove for her eyes and Leda dreaded re-learning how to see with only one eye.

A streak of white-blue whizzed past her little ear, hitting one of the hippogryphs full on in the side. The light spread quickly across the feathers and the beast screamed in agony as it convulsed and then exploded in a shower of blue-green feathers. Two more bolts of arcane were flung and two feather-explosions followed. Isfrael nodded at her before turning in the opposite direction to jab his wand into the eye of an oncoming elf and slam his open palm onto her chest. She disintegrated into a cascade of purple sparkles.

In the distance, a horn sounded. Zeb's offensive had begun. Leda's ears pricked up at the sound and the bear turned, wanting to catch a glimpse of the troll archer. She was met, not with the sight of Zeb triumphantly leading a second front, but with the backside of an extremely large tauren. Leda huffed. An elf rushed at her, sword raised. The bear roared and her teeth ripped into his stomach. She left him there on the ground and ran around the 9-and-a-half-foot wall of bow-wielding tauren, glaring at him on her way.

"Do you have anymore of that wine?" Isfrael held out his glass. Leda rolled her eyes, but filled up his glass anyway. Aethalia had forbid more than one glass, but a whole keg of it had been dropped off outside her tent earlier that afternoon. "Where was I? Oh right -"

Zeb's front was already further up than her own, but she could see him gesturing at the space between the two sets of bridges. Her own commanders were yelling and the gap was quickly closed. Ahead of her was the elves' line of archers and casters in their typical formation. They bled easily, much easier than the warriors that met them at the shore. Leda shook her bloody paw and a piece of flimsy cloth armour fluttered off.

Arrows rained down, one caught Leda in the back and it stung. The bear looked up and growled – the towers hadn't been taken yet. She swatted down an elven priest oozing shadow and stepped on his neck. The bear met with Isfrael halfway to the tower and shifted into a very angry tauren General.

"Push ahead. Need to get towers," was all she growled out, her nostrils flaring. And then she was off. Her hooves were clumsy and she stumbled twice on her way to Legionnaire Krushna, who's regiment was supposed to have already taken the tower.

Isfrael sipped at his wine and gestured at Aethalia to continue the story. The mage helped himself to a plate of roast boar, but Leda could tell that he was still feeling the after effects of over-extending himself again. His hand shook under the weight of a couple small slices of meat.

"KRUSHNA!" Leda yelled over the screams and clashes that blanketed the city.

She found the troll commander with his second in command surrounded by the massive panthers the elves rode. Their axes were already covered in blood and the two were back to back panting heavily. The bear was called easily and the big cats flinched at the accompanying roar, but it didn't deter the panthers from their next meal.

Leda charged at the closest one, catching it off-guard and then reared up at the next – slamming down on the cat's head with all of her considerable weight. But there were too many. Even with two down, there were still at least another half dozen. Teeth sunk into her shoulder, another nightsabre wrapped its jaws around her back leg and claws swiped at her soft, exposed side. When she looked back, Krushna was on the ground and a panther was tearing out his throat.

Another cat leapt at her and its long teeth were blinding agony in her back. She staggered, almost losing her balance under the weight of three full grown sabres. Spots appeared in front of her eyes. Flashes in her peripheral vision – from the pain? Spells? Leda couldn't tell.

Where was Iyo?

Moonfire.

She slumped forward as a panther jumped on her back, hooking its claws into her skin.

Moonfire.

Iyo.

Cats roared, their screams sounded strangely far off. One by one, they gave up on the bear, leaving her to bleed on the grass.

"Iyo?" she called, but it ended up sounding like a lost cub.

"Leda?! Oh my god, Leda!" Tiny little hands were everywhere. Leda tried to stand only to end up falling again. "Lay still," was the brusque command. The bear didn't move. "Hand me tho- and now, yes, the -"

She roared and the rage returned. But when she turned to face her attacker, she was met with only a pair of elves – one in what used to be lavender robes and the other in blood spattered white plate. Aethalia and -?

"Leda just lay still. Leave your bandages alone," Aethalia swatted Leda's hand away from the linen wrapped around her side.

The elves hadn't waited for their conversation to be over. Arrows again popped up all over the ground, bouncing off the white shield that surrounded the priest and narrowly missing Leda's back foot. The bear roared again and several orcs turned to see her looking up at the elves in the tower, nocking another set of arrows. They disappeared into the base of the tower.

She tried again to get up and this time Aethalia didn't stop her. The bear glared at the elf who was unapologetic about her appearance on the battlefield. She didn't have time to explain and it was the paladin who came to her defense, his mace nearly ripping the head off an elf hidden in the shadows with a dagger halfway to Aethalia's kidney.

A third horn sounded from the east again. Leda's head shot up and the sudden movement had her vision swimming. With a brief shake of her head, the bear was off again to the middle of the battlefield. Sternhorn's flank had begun.

"May I?"

Iyo looked up and there she was, gesturing at the chair across from him. He managed a nod. Gracefully, she pulled the chair out and settled the linen napkin across her lap. When he said nothing (for fear of stammering), she smiled and continued their conversation from earlier, in the library.

"Did you ever find out what happened to the rabbit who strayed too far from his home?"

"It was a fable, like I thought, and the rabbit ended up in a stew." Her hair was up now and Iyo kept a firm grip on his knife and fork so that his fingers wouldn't wander over and pull out all the pins. He liked her hair down. He knew her hair would be soft, but wanted to kn-

"-don't you think?"

He blushed and looked down at his plate, as if his salad were the most interesting dinner in Azeroth.

"Yes, yes, of course," he replied, not really knowing what he was agreeing to.

"Really? You think that murdering every one of Mylune's little creatures would scare off Deathwing?"

Inwardly, he kicked himself. She had caught him daydreaming and likely staring too. There was no way to back peddle out of this one.

"I'm sorry, Nara. I was just thinking."

"And what had you so swept up that you didn't hear me?" her eyes twinkled and he knew she knew.

But he chickened out like the big chicken he was.

"I... I was worried about Leda."

Nara's smile faded and was quickly replaced with some fake thing he supposed was meant to resemble a smile.

"She is in a very dangerous situation."

Leda roared in pain as the glaive caught her across her nose. Blood seeped from the red, angry gap in her face and she found it remarkable that her own blood tasted the same as an elf's – metallic and warm. A paw swiped the blood away and an instant later, sent the glaive flying. The same paw slammed into the elf's chest and she could feel his armour crumple.

An arrow in the neck took down the elf behind him and then there he was. Kirge was bloody and limping and his mace had lost its head, but there he was. For some reason, a reason Leda wouldn't realize until much, much later, the bloodlust and the battle fog in her mind cleared. Around her, elves continued to fall and soon there would be none, but Leda didn't notice. She half-stumbled toward him and when they met halfway, she leaned up against him and he threaded his fingers through her fur and held on tight.

She glided through the corridors. Iyo marvelled at how her slippers barely made a sound on the marble. Her gown trailed on the ground an inch behind her. She looked regal. She was beauti-

She was gone.

He turned the corner after her. "Nara, wait!"

She turned.

"I'm sorry about dinner. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"Think nothing of it," she smiled, "Your sister is a big part of your life, I understand."

"I wasn't -" his courage faltered. "I feel guilty saying this, but Leda isn't the one I've been thinking about." He reached for her hand and marvelled at how small it was. Iyo looked up, fearing the inevitable disgust on her face. But she was smiling and it was the most beautiful smile he'd ever witnessed. And it was all for him.

Leda went through the motions on autopilot. Burn the bodies of the elves. Prepare the fallen in their culture-appropriate manner. Set up defense perimeters. Send word to allies – Hellscream's, Zoram'gar, Orgrimmar. Pitch the tent. Eat the food.

The Horde set up camp in Astraanar, truly occupying the city. She knew her troops would need a rest after the battle they'd just been through. The 43rd's tents were pitched outside the inn near the centre of the city. From the quiet fire Isfrael had conjured for her, she gave orders in a detached, tired tone. The mage himself was inside, confined to bed by their bully of a priest. Aethalia was no where to be found and had likely moved her triage camp from behind what had been there defensive line to inside the city. Now that the battle was finally over, she would be swamped with stubborn, injured soldiers. But she had left her paladin buddy and the quiet Cayl had manhandled Leda with hands that were possibly colder than Aethalia's.

Linen criss-ed and cross-ed around her torso. Her leather armour lay in a bloody, slashed heap beside her bedroll. The bandages itched – she wasn't sure what kind of elixir had been poured on them, but it must be working. Iyo said that healing always itched. Leda tried to sit very still because the elixir burned when she moved.

"It will take some time for those wounds to heal," the paladin had told her. "Aeth and I have done what we can with the aid of the Light, but you must finish it." Leda wasn't sure if he ever smiled. It wasn't exactly good news to have to take it easy, but seriously? Not even a little smile?

Cayl saluted and turned to leave. Leda noticed his mace was still bloody.

And then she was alone in her tent.

With a sigh, Leda lay her head down, bunching her pillow up under her head. She had to lay on her stomach due to the extensive damage done to her back by the nightsabres. For what seemed to be the millionth time, she wished Iyo was here. Leda hated being injured. She hated the dull itch of skin knitting itself back together. She hated the slow burn of the Light. She hated the odd numbness of the elements. She hated the weird tingly shivers that those weird seeds would give her. And druids always insisted on the seeds. Always.

What was Iyo doing anyway? He should be here with her.

A low horn sounded outside.

Across the small library table, Iyo's blue eyes met Nara's amber ones. He was confused. She looked worried.

"What does the horn mean, Nara?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Enemies have overcome the portal," was all she said.

Chairs scraped against the marble floor. His hooves echoed in the halls. They met up with a handful of the other scholars in the main atrium. There were too few. The fighting would be far from their library hidden away in the glade. Too many were too focused on their work, too removed from the reason they were invited to the Grove of Aessina.

The sun had nearly set; it would be dinner time in less than half an hour. Iyo supposed that time of day didn't really matter to fire elementals. After one last look at Nara, he shifted and took off, soaring high above the library. A few seconds later, a graceful raven joined him. Respect and fear warred inside his chest as the two druids met up with their brethren to defend the world tree.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A beam of the setting sun cut across her face. She didn't remember falling asleep. It was afternoon when she laid down. Maybe the wounds really were that bad. Fog cleared from her mind and she looked up to see who had slipped into her tent.

"I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Leda squinted and recognized Kirge in the fading sunlight filtering through the canvas.

"So you were just going to, what? Watch me sleep?" her lip curled in disgust. It was kind of a creepy thought.

"No," he scoffed, clearly disgusted with the idea himself. "I didn't realize you were sleeping. I planned on coming back later."

"Its ok, I didn't realize I was sleeping either," Leda started to sit up and had almost made it when she put too much weight on the wrong shoulder and ended up with a face full of her mattress. A pair of hands helped her up and the blankets rustled as he sat beside her. Leda's first instinct was to growl and throw him out on his ass. Her second instinct was to yell and order him around. Leda did neither. She was tired.

"I'm tired," she said to her hands, picking at the blood under her thumbnail.

"I'm sorry, I can leave."

"No," she sighed, "I can't do this. I don't have the energy to do whatever this is."

Kirge said nothing. They sat there not saying anything for a long while. Minutes dragged on. Leda's weakness filled her with shame. She wondered why he hadn't left.

"How bad is it?"

She could feel his fingers trace the edge of a bandage on her shoulder blade before moving to one on her side, just under her ribs. It tickled a little.

"I'll be fine."

"I know you'll be fine, but it must be bad if you aren't fine already. You have the best healers this side of Orgrimmar."

"There will be scars."

"We all have scars."

"Look Sternhorn, I don't know what your deal is, but if you've come to bask in the glory that is my defeat you can just get out."

The bastard started laughing! Just a slow chuckle, low and deep, quiet in the stillness of her tent.

"What? Now you're laughing at me?" she clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the pain in her tensing muscles.

"No," he said, with a smile on his lips, "Well, yes, but only because of how wrong you are. If I've come to bask in anything, its the triumph of your tactics. And, if I'm going to be completely honest, from what I hear around the camp, I -" he paused, "Well, I wish I had been there to see you in action."

She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't meet his gaze.

"Well," he cleared his throat and patted her knee awkwardly, "Get well soon, General."

Kirge got up and left.

"This is going hurt, but try to hold still," Aethalia murmured. The last stretch of linen was peeled off the cut on her nose and Leda hissed in pain.

"...an' den we be puttin' da 82nd 'round da south end," Zeb was saying; Leda was lucky to catch half of what he said. Aethalia gently pushed on her arm and Leda lifted it so the priest could unwind another bandage from around her ribs. At least the worst of it was over – changing the linen on the cut on her nose was the most agonizing and Leda always ended up with tears in her eyes.

Her tent was crowded today. In addition to the little elven priestess was her right hand troll, Zeb, her forced calf-sitter Gohrr and, of course, Kirge.

Leda's hands balled up into fists as the bandage around her ribs was removed. Whatever potion Aethalia was using ended up stickier than shit and pulled out half of the fur around her wounds.

"Thanks Zeb. Let me know if anything changes," Leda smiled at him, truly grateful that he had taken over most of her duties. He nodded, wished her well and slipped out of the tent.

"Is there a reason you're here Gohrr?" She bit the inside of her cheek as a bandage on her shoulder was removed.

"Yub yub."

Leda sighed. "What is the reason?"

"Lat Big Boss, em say 'RULG!' fer da klompin' buurzalbai."

"Yes, well, tell him it wasn't easy. They're good soldiers." Leda could care less what Gohrr thought of the whole thing. She didn't remember seeing him out there on the battlefield, but then again, she didn't remember much from yesterday. Honestly, she just wanted him gone; gone from her tent, gone from her command, gone from her forest. "You're dismissed Gohrr."

The orc shrugged and unholstered his flask as he left the little tent.

Leda gasped as the last bandage was ripped off her lower back. "Almost done Leda, I promise." True to her word, Aethalia finished up in another minute after tying the bandage around her hips. "Try and get some rest, ok? We need those wounds to close up before you can even think about shifting again. Last thing you need is an infection."

With a sigh, she lay back down on her stomach.

From his corner of the tent, Kirge began to tell the tauren fable of the gopher and the plainstrider. Leda smiled and closed her eyes.

The letter came a few days later. Normally, it wouldn't be something he would bother Leda with, but Zeb was certain she'd want to know about this one. It had been delivered by a timid looking sparrow and was sealed with a long curling strand of ivy. On the light scrap of parchment were only two words: "Hyjal burns."

Her tent was nearby; only two tents down from where they had set up their command centre. Zeb set out with a heavy heart – he hated giving bad news. The troll forced a smile and waved at Gurtak, commander of the 33rd infantry, who waved back on his way past. The camp was buzzing in the early light of morning. The sky was that odd mixture of blue and pink, somehow retaining both colours and not becoming purple.

On the other side of the canvas of Leda's tent, Zeb could hear Aethalia's nagging. He unrolled the parchment again, then rolled it the opposite way to try and smooth it out. With a shake of his head, Zeb stopped procrastinating and slipped into the tent.

Both women looked up as the streak of sunlight flickered from one side of the tent to the other. Aethalia smiled and went back to work pulling the bandage around Leda's ribs tighter and tighter. "I'll just be a second and then she's all yours Zeb," a lock of hair fell out of the priest's bun and into her eyes. The little elf pulled the bandage tighter still and then with the practice of years a flurry of hands and pins managed to tie it up.

"Dis lettah arrived jus' a li'l while ago," he held up the parchment.

Leda snorted, "Hardly a letter. Looks like a scribe's leftovers." A flicker of pain crossed her features as she eased herself back onto her stomach. He knew she wouldn't be able to read it, but he set the little letter down on her pillow in front of her nose. Leda's eyes flickered to the shape in the corner – Kirge was dozing in what looked like a very uncomfortable camp chair.

"What does it say?" she whispered. Her voice trembled, as if she already knew.

Zeb had left shortly afterwards. Leda hadn't even heard what excuse he had made. The parchment on the pillow mocked her. "Hyjal burns." Who had written it? Iyo himself? Some elf? Ragnaros?

Leda knew he would fight. Her brother was not one to sit around while the things he loved were threatened. It was a trait they both shared.

Sitting up hurt. Standing wasn't much worse, which surprised her. Nadine, her warg, would be waiting outside her tent. But it would take too long to just ride to Hyjal. She could take a wyvern, but that would mean one less rider in the sky defending Astraanar. At Zoram'gar she'd be able to pay for a wyvern trip, but could she show her face there? Troops from Zoram'gar had joined her offensive. They'd died for her. She could go east to Splintertree Post and hire a wyvern. But what ab-

"Leda? You're up?"

Kirge stood next to her (when had he woken up?) with his hands out and ready to catch her, but Leda didn't wobble. Her responsibilities hit her like a splash of cold water – she couldn't leave.

One of the tent flaps fluttered as a breeze passed by and the little scrap of parchment on her pillow was blown away. The finality of her decision hit Leda like a rampaging elekk and her knees buckled. She'd never see her brother again. They'd roast him. In her mind, all she could see was Iyo, alone, surrounded by fire.

"You're upset," Kirge rumbled, pushing a mug of honeymint tea into her hands. When had she sat down? The camp chair was uncomfortable. "Leda..." She avoided his gaze until he gently turned her chin toward him.

"Did something happen while I was asleep?" His fingers lightly brushed her fresh bandages, "Did Aethalia find something more serious?" Leda shook her head and sipped at her tea. "Then what?"

"We- we, uh," she cleared her throat, "got a call to arms this morning. From... it was from Hyjal."

He sighed and rested his forehead on hers. After a long moment, all he whispered was "I'm sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

[Author's Notes: This is the final chapter of Last Stand and I hope you've enjoyed the ride! I'd love to hear what you think so please leave a comment or send me a PM. I know I enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoyed reading it :) ]

Chapter 10

They invaded from the south and gained ground faster than Iyo would've believed possible. He and Nara were among the first to arrive on the battlefield. By the time they landed, the servants of the Fire Lord had made it nearly halfway to the Sanctuary of Malorne. Trees were scorched, the ground was blackened and the air was like breathing flames. There was no way either of them could've prepared for this.

The druids were scattered, ardently defending their homeland in small skirmishes with walking flames, the tall snake-like flamewakers and worst of all – what had once been their brothers and sisters.

Iyo and Nara stayed close together with the cliff-side rising at their backs. The heat was nearly unbearable and after a few short minutes, Iyo's light leather armour was soaked through.

"Iyo! Your left!"

He spun and a beam from the heavens struck down the druid of the flame as she attempted to activate the waiting portal. A small pang cut through his chest for the misled druid. And then real pain replaced it; a burning searing pain... Iyo clutched at his cheek and turned away from the druid's corpse.

Nara had somehow attracted three flamewakers and a horde of living flames. Roots clutched at their feet, only to wither and die in the heat. Iyo dodged a fireball and flung back his own arcane ball, grinning as it hit a flamewaker in the face and then hissing as the grin hurt his burnt cheek.

Beside him, Nara had pulled out her staff and the beautiful beechwood spun and twirled with her, keeping the living flames at bay. Showers of arcane and nature magic burst with each hit like blue-green fireworks.

Iyo coughed, flinging another arcane bolt at a flamewaker, who barely flinched. Breathing was getting more difficult and with each spell, he gasped for air. With strength from Ysera-knew-where, he raised his arms and millions of arcane droplets began to fall from the sky like rain.

Next to him, Nara was now leaning heavily on her staff. She had somehow managed to convince the destroyed, scorched trees to get up and fight and it was taking everything she had to continue to direct them.

And yet another wave of flamewakers and living flames surged up the hill in front of them. Iyo was ashamed at how relieved he was to hear the horn to retreat.

Horns.

Low, desperate horns echoed across the silent, still camp.

Across the tent, their eyes met for a long moment and then Kirge was gone. Metal on metal clattered outside her tent. Several sets of feet ran past. Shadows danced on the canvas walls.

Leda was out of breath by the time she made it to the tent flap. Her armour was a mess – shredded by Aethalia and Cayl to get to her wounds – and lay abandoned back in the tent. Her tabard would have to do.

"An' get up in dem towers!" Zeb had his back to her and was yelling at an orc with a bow while at the same time shrugging on his studded vest. Summoning all her strength, Leda joined him. To his credit, he hesitated for only a second before launching into a briefing. They'd waste too much time arguing about her health and in the end, Zeb knew Leda would win.

"De elves, dey o'erwhelmed our defenses in da sout' across dere original bridge. We be spreading out aroun' da islan' wit' aroun' da clock wyvern patrols. In da end, we was too spread owt. I still be expectin' anudder front since dat's how we be takin' da city. I'm t'inkin' 'ere," he pointed to the eastern shore, where the distance from shore to island was the shortest. The troll spoke quickly and his accent had thickened, but somehow Leda managed to follow.

"Sounds about right. I'd expect the same thing. Send extra casters to the east, but don't pull too many from the north or west either. Last thing we need is to be cut off from Hellscream's."

"Don't be lettin' Aethalia be seein' ya, Ledabuhr."

"I'm kind of hard to miss, but I'll try," she smiled. The tauren took a step back and roared in agony as she shifted. Paws wavered and knees buckled as the gashes on her back re-opened, blood trickling down her side. When Leda's vision cleared, there was Zeb, looking at her like it was the last time he'd see her. Chest heaving with the effort, she turned and hobbled out of the command centre.

Her city was in ruins – fires sprung up both from overturned braizers and mages with terrible aim. Leda hurried to the southern bridge, where the fighting would be thickest. Astraanar was hers and she wouldn't let a single night elf stand between her and the city.

The elves had already advanced onto the island and were almost three house-lengths inside the city. Her anger coursed through her body and all the pain and weariness were pushed back. Leda took a deep breath and lumbered into the fray.

The first elf to stand in her way was female and carried an axe. She didn't stand a chance and Leda could see the fear in her eyes when faced with a full tonne of bear. The elf was frozen in fear when Leda reared up on her hind legs, standing at her full 9 feet before crashing down on the tiny elf.

The next elf carried only a staff. Her cloth armour got stuck on Leda's claw and only served to annoy the bear. But she forgot about the purple silk between her claws when she spotted Kirge. He was parrying with an elf who had an impossibly long polearm, but there was no way for the tauren to win with only the glaive he had picked up.

With a roar, she charged in.

They made their stand south of the Sanctuary of Malorne at the bottom of the hill. Another portal had been opened and several druids of the flame were channelling, opening it wider and wider. Elementals, flamewakers and another of their former brethren poured through the gateway. Iyo and Nara stood with too few. Above them soared a mere dozen druids of the talon. Below them on the hill were a menagerie of lions, bears, dryads, deer and a couple of tigers. But there wasn't enough. Not nearly enough of them.

The air was relatively clear, but not for long. Ash drifted past Iyo's nose as he took a deep breath and raised a hand into the air. He exhaled and closed his eyes. Clouds formed at the bottom of the hill, gathering together out of nothing. Thunder crackled and echoed through the valley and then the rain began. It poured and the flamewakers beneath were drenched, they hissed and screamed as their magic refused to cooperate. Sweat beaded on his brow and a sharp pain pounded in his chest, Iyo gasped for breath. The world spun.

Cool hands.

His head hurt. The burn on his cheek pulsed with his heartbeat. Every muscle ached, the effort to open his eyes was monumental. But worth it.

"Don't you do that to me again!" Nara looked terrified. Her cool hands were on his forehead, his cheek, over his heart. The pain lifted slowly at first and then faster, but not entirely. She helped him up awkwardly, supporting what little of his weight that she could.

"How long was I out?"

"Too long," she turned to look down the hill and he followed her gaze.

Flamewakers were making their way up the hill, followed closely by strange-looking elementals. They trod on the bodies of their fallen brothers and sisters. They were the last two and still more denizens of Ragnaros poured out of the portal.

To be continued


End file.
